Get a Room, part 3
by Lex
Summary: HouseChase turbulence


GET A ROOM – part 3

"I left the apartment. I didn't leave _you."_

House gave a calculatedly nonchalant shrug. "I'd get over it if you did, you know," he said defensively.

Chase knew House well enough to recognize these words as nothing more than the product of House's pride, and, out of love, Chase gave the older man the gift of not taking up the challenge they presented. So Chase merely said, "I know," calmly and without rancor. House's true feelings had been made clear enough, and they both knew it.

"Good."

The two men looked at each other for a long moment. Finally House said, "Chase …"

The hesitant knock on the door startled them both; they'd forgotten all about Wilson, waiting anxiously in the suite's sitting room. The oncologist's voice sounded nervous: "Uh … everything ok in there?"

"Go away," said House darkly.

Silence.

Then, doubtfully, "Umm … Chase?"

Chase looked surprised, House, irritated.

"I'm fine!"

"He's fine!"

From the other side of the door came, "Okay" and then the sound of Wilson walking away.

House grinned cheekily at Chase. "Looks like you've got yourself a knight in shining armor, Princess."

The blond gave a small smile, but his tone was serious as he replied, "I'd better not ever need one, House."

All traces of his former grin gone, his expression grave, House replied, "I promise you – you won't. I can't tell you I won't act like an ass, but I _can_ swear to you that I'll never lay hands on you again."

Chase nodded. Then House, uncomfortable with the emotional current in the air, put on an innocent look and qualified his statement, "Well, except for when I grope you … and when I …"

"Alright, I get it, House!" Chase rolled his eyes. He figured that if he had a nickel for every time he rolled his eyes at House's behavior, he'd be richer than Bill Gates.

"So … how about the make-up sex?"

Chase laughed. "I didn't know you were a 'Seinfeld' fan! But the make-up sex will have to wait; after all, this _is_ Wilson's room, and he might not appreciate us having sex in it. Anyway, I thought your leg …" His voice trailed off questioningly.

"I've taken care of that," said House dismissively. "And you'd better take advantage of my proposition, because you probably won't get another chance for a while. So now's your chance to stock up on some Greg House lovin'," the diagnostician leered.

"What are you talking about?"

House decided not to mention the latest developments in the Tritter situation. Chase would find out soon enough, and if House told him now, it would seriously decrease his chances of getting any tonight. But he had to explain about his leg, so he admitted, "I used up all my Vicodin."

"_All_ of it?"

"Yeah – so how about getting naked?"

"But, House – that was your supply for the week! Cuddy's not going to give you any more. What are you going to do for the next 5 days?" Chase was exasperated, and his concern for House came out as anger. He raked his hand through his hair. "What the fuck were you thinking? Or couldn't you control yourself?"

"Calm down. I took them because the dosage that Cuddy prescribed was doing fuck all for me … as you have reason to know. I needed to find you; I needed to be able to talk to you. I couldn't do that with the pain I was in. I had to be able to function, to find you and bring you home. So I took them all."

Chase was speechless, moved beyond measure by his lover's confession, by the lengths to which House had gone in order to reconcile with him. He felt his love for the older man well up inside him, reduce him to a wordless humility, and his heart ached with it all. House was trusting him with this revelation, and Chase would not betray that trust by displaying too much emotion and making House more self-conscious as a result. So he just murmured, "Greg … oh, Greg," and, tilting his head up, softly and sweetly brushed his lips against House's. He tried to put all his love, all his heart into that brief kiss. Then, sighing, he rested his blond head against House's shoulder.

The tension began to disappear from House's body, and he curled one arm around Chase. With the other hand, he brushed the hair – those ridiculous bangs! – which was, as usual, flopping goofily over Chase's blue-green eyes. _"Jesus," _House wondered with affectionate amusement, trying without success to keep the long hair from falling right back over the intensivist's face._ "How the hell does he work like this? How can he see anything?"_ The kid looked like a sheepdog! Well, ok, a sexy blond sheepdog, but a sheepdog nonetheless. House looked down at the beautiful face resting on his shoulder: the eyelashes fluttering against the smooth cheeks, the alluring mouth, and the fair skin, marred by ugly bruise on the jaw. House winced. The discoloration served to strengthen his conviction that he would never be able to make Chase (or any lover) happy for long (hadn't Stacy been proof of that?) – but, with the Australian, he wanted very badly to try. Anyway, he knew that, at least for now, Chase really did love him. Sighing happily, House buried his face in Chase's soft hair. He said gruffly,  
"Love you, baby."

Chase lifted his head, a million-watt smile lighting up his face. House thought, in the instant before Chase kissed him, that the eyes turned up to his looked as clear and as tempting as twin swimming pools, and he drew a long, shuddering breath as a wave of desire passed over him. Chase bit his lip; it never failed to amaze and astonish him that he could elicit such a response from House: that he was granted the privilege of seeing a side of House unknown to almost anyone else: that when they were alone, House called him, "baby," and sometimes even "sweetheart." Chase reached up to pull House's head down to his own and soon they were kissing in earnest, their passion and urgency immediate, House breathing hoarsely, "Oh, Jesus … oh, fuck," into Chase's open mouth, Chase trying frantically to pull House's body even closer to his own. House's hands on his ass made Chase wild; he groaned and, taking House's tongue into his mouth, sucked it in the way he knew drove House mad. The terry-cloth towel was easily ripped from around Chase's waist and dashed to the carpet, and Chase's knees almost buckled as House's fingers circled his cock and squeezed it gently.

House purposely began to slow the pace a little, wanting to enjoy the sight of his lover writhing under his touch. He stroked Chase's hard cock, pressed it with the flat of his hand, cupped the heavy balls, lewdly whispered sex words against the white neck. Chase thrust desperately against House's hand, panting raggedly, and gasping out incoherent exhortations. House loved how noisy Chase was during sex; he loved how Chase looked with his head thrown back and his eyes closed, how the boy moaned and whimpered against House's mouth, how his nipples stiffened beneath House's palm. House wasn't going to be able to hold off much longer. He was hard and ready, so when Chase, finally managing to form actual words, groaned, "I want you so much, Greg," House wasted no time in pushing the Australian onto the nearest of the two double beds. He hastily tore at his belt, wanting to be balls-deep inside Chase's tight little ass, hearing the blond moaning beneath him, and begging House to fuck him harder, harder.

It took both men some time to register that, in an incomparable display of bad timing, Wilson was knocking insistently at the door.

"Hey, House? Chase? Listen, what's going on in there?"

The pair stared at each other. Chase had to hide his head under the pillow to stifle his laughter at the expression on House's face. House made a strangled sound in his throat, punched the mattress, and choked out threateningly, "GO AWAY!"

"Oh," came Wilson's reply. "Oh, ok." There was quiet for short time, but then Wilson spoke through the door again. He sounded apologetic but determined as he said, "Uh, look, guys, are you going to be … err … _talking_ much longer? It's late, and I want to get to bed. Can't you get a room or something?"

"We've already got one."

"You do?"

"Yeah – we're in it."

Wilson stared stupidly at the closed door to the bedroom. He heard what sounded suspiciously like a peal of laughter from Chase, and then what was most definitely a low chuckle from House. Still, the oncologist remained where he was, a look of disbelief on his face. It wasn't until the sounds of laughter gave way to other noises – throaty moans, gasping cries, the low rumble of House's voice as he muttered some unintelligible encouragement to his partner, and the rhythmic thump of the headboard as it hit the wall repeatedly – that Wilson shook himself back to reality: there was no way he was going to get into that room tonight. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly. He was resignedly beginning to unfold the sleeper sofa when Wilson heard Chase utter a series of ecstatic cries, rising in volume and culminating in a final urgent shout of, "Oh, God, God!"

"Wonderful," Wilson remarked sarcastically to himself. "The kid's a screamer." He wearily dropped the sofa cushion he was holding to the floor and picked up the telephone to ask the concierge for a pair of earplugs.

END


End file.
